Oliver Twist

by Charles Dickens

How do you feel that it took me about as long to read this as to read The Count of Monte Cristo, which is a good 1,000 pages longer?

I started it in the summer of 2007, when the Romgi and I were working at an alarm system company call center. Our days started at 6am and I had to have something to keep myself awake. As much as I enjoy Dickens, he was probably not the best choice for staying focused during those early hours. I made it through about 70 pages that summer, and left it on a shelf afterwards.

So when I read the last of the books I’d never tried reading before, I pulled Oliver Twist out again, to help take my mind off the gallbladder death-pains (another story) and contractions. When I’d gotten about halfway through, our neighbors invited us over to watch a movie with them; they’d rented Oliver Twist from the library, and I thought it would be fun to see. Unfortunately, the further we got in the movie, the more I was confused about the plot, because it didn’t seem to be the same story as the book (it wasn’t). Then I stopped reading the book for a while, since I learned to crochet and found that to be an excellent diversion.

Once the Bwun was born, I got Oliver Twist out yet again to keep me awake during the late night and early morning when I was feeding him…do you see the problem? Actually, it didn’t turn out to be a problem. Either I’ve developed a better attention span or I’ve realized that one can only watch 2 episodes of my favorite Korean drama before the dvd is over and I have to stand up to put in the next disc. Not easy with the Bwun.

Anyway, I did eventually finish, and while I think the book is far superior to the movie (at least the Disney version with Richard Dreyfus and Elijah Wood), there are just way too many coincidences in the plot to make it anywhere near believable. And to me, for some reason, being believable is important. I’m glad I read it, because it is a classic, and Dickens is a rather amusing author, but there’s no way anything like that would ever happen. EVER.

The end.

The Twilight Saga

by Stephanie Meyer

Confession: despite vowing that I would not, I read the Twilight books.

Confession: 

 
…I liked them.

I was surprised to find that the books are actually well-written, and Meyer developed as a writer so much between the first and last book. The story is captivating, and despite criticism that the main character, Bella, focuses too much on Edward’s extreme beauty, I found it to be the right amount for a teenage girl falling for a guy with supernatural appeal. Honestly, I wish I could read the saga again for the first time – not knowing what’s going to happen. There was a good balance between foreshadowing and sudden plot twists, and Meyer did an excellent job of hinting at things that were important later in the series. Details that seemed insignificant early on were intentionally placed and obviously well thought-out.

So, even though I swore it would never happen…

I am a Twilight fan.

Sigh.

Picture Books, March 2009

The Dancing Man
by Ruth Bornstein

With mediocre illustrations and a sappy plot, I was underwhelmed by Bornstein’s book. A boy is given a pair of silver dancing shoes by a Dancing Man he meets on the beach, then leaves his peasant’s life in Eastern Europe to bring joy to the world by dancing. Blah.

The Mysterious Tadpole
by Steven Kellogg

Awesome. A boy gets a birthday present from his uncle who lives in Scotland – a small, strangely-colored tadpole that, yes, grows up into a Loch Ness monster. The boy has to find increasingly bigger places to fit the tadpole as it grows, which is a bit like the first Clifford book, but the story and illustrations were still fun.

Detective Bob and the Great Ape Escape
by David L. Harrison

Suck. Bad story told in poor Dr. Seuss-type rhymes with horrible illustrations.

Sir Orfeo
by Anthea Davis

I’d never heard the story of Sir Orfeo before, and although the author does a tolerable job of retelling it for children, the illustrations were what made the book enjoyable. I almost want to go buy my own copy.

The Ghost-Eye Tree
by Bill Martin, Jr.

I’ve decided that I don’t particularly care for stories told in rhymes, or presented in poetry at all. This book, about a boy and his sister who have to go get a pail of milk for their mom, made me wonder why the mother sent them out at night…and why the author wrote the book at all…